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theholiestsanctum · 21 days

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Maybe #6 ...on a falling tear.

But maybe smut 😅

Ahem. Um. Yes.

Putting this under a read more cut for obvious reasons 😶

6. ...on a falling tear (but definitely smut)

It’s Ian’s day off, the house is empty, the vibrating anal beads they splurged on finally arrived in the mail, and they're having a great time.

It’s obvious, from the way Ian is grinning wide, eyes sparkling, laughter huffing from his lungs, that he’s enjoying this.

Mickey’s enjoying it too, of course. It’s just that he expresses joy a bit differently than most people.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck you, fuck you, Ian, gonna fucking kill you, fuck.”

Ian laughs again, and his warm breath puffing against Mickey’s spit soaked nipple gets an interesting response, so he follows it up by pursing his lips and blowing out a long, cool stream of air.

“Fuck. Ian,” Mickey whines, voice keening and plaintive once more.

It’s one of the many, many things Ian loves about his husband: the way his mood flips on a dime even during sex, especially during sex, how he’ll go from growling threats to pathetic pleading to blabbering praises and back again.

“So good, it’s so good, Ian, please, love you, you're so good.”

“Yeah? You like this, baby?” Ian pulls back to get a better view of Mickey’s face. It's quite the sight to behold: skin flushed and brows furrowed and mouth swollen and slick, plush lower lip bitten hard by one sharp little canine tooth.

Mickey tips his head back against the pillow. Shakes it frantically. “No, I don’t fucking like this, I hate this, fuck, I hate you.”

“Oh? You don’t like this?” Ian hums. Rubs one big hand soothingly up and down Mickey’s heaving chest. “Hm. Maybe we oughta try a different setting, then.”

“Wait–”

Mickey’s eyes fly open just in time to see Ian grin as he presses the button on the remote.

“Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck, Ian, Ian, please–”

“Please what? Put it higher?”

Ian presses another button without waiting for an answer. Watches in awe as Mickey’s back arches, as his muscles tense, limbs straining against the restraints, as his cock jerks untouched against his stomach, come dribbling down to join the other spatters in varying states of drying.

Ian clicks the remote again. Drops the strength to the lowest setting, switches the pulse pattern to something steady and predictable.

Mickey sobs, just once, and Ian’s grin widens.

When Mickey cries during sex, that means Ian is doing his job really, really well.

It’d freaked him out the first time. Made him panic. Made him think he’d hurt Mickey in a way he hadn’t intended to.

But that was years ago.

Nowadays, making Mickey cry is one of Ian’s favorite activities.

“So good, baby,” he gushes, leaning in to kiss Mickey’s forehead. “You’re doing so good. You were fucking made for this, Mickey. Made to be tied up and pleasured and used all day long.”

Ian can physically feel Mickey’s skin heat up against his lips. Can feel him shudder and shake. Can feel him nod, just a tiny, jerky little motion.

Ian pulls back again, wanting to drink in the sight of him, wanting to see it forever and ever and ever. “Fuck, baby. I should take a fucking picture. Actually, I should just keep you like this 24/7.”

Mickey’s breath stutters, his eyes fluttering open to peer up at Ian blearily, the tiniest little noise clawing from his throat.

Ian smiles softly at him. Brings a hand up to cup his face and swipe at his tears with his thumb. “You want that, baby? Yeah. Maybe you’re right about not needing a job. Maybe I should just keep you tied up like this all day instead, ready for me to use whenever I want. Would be a great stress relief, after a long day of work. ‘Course, some days I’d be too tired to fuck you, but that’s okay. I can just leave you like this, right?”

Mickey whines in protest. Shakes his head.

“Shh, it’s okay, Mick. I’m just teasing,” he soothes, ducking down again to kiss the fresh tear rolling down Mickey’s cheek. “I’d never be able to leave you completely untouched. I’d have to do something. Something like this, maybe.”

He clicks the remote again, ramping the vibrations back up to level five, switching the pattern to an unyielding bzzzzzzzzzz.

“Fuck!”

Ian laughs. Palms at his own dick, just to take a bit of the pressure off. “We’re almost done, babe. Promise.”

“Yeah?” Mickey pants, melting a bit in relief even as his wrists flex against the leather cuffs fruitlessly.

“Ian! Fuck, fuck you, please please please, I need you, I love you, Ian–”

“Yeah,” Ian assures him. “Just gonna make you come one more time with these in.” He pauses. Cocks his head. “Well, and then of course I’ll have to pull these out of you, one by one, and fuck knows how many times you’ll come during that. Plus, I’m obviously going to have to fuck you at least once. Maybe twice. I’m feeling pretty worked up, y’know?”

This time, Mickey comes with a high pitched whine and a steady stream of tears.

Oh yeah. They are definitely having fun.

send me a number~

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theholiestsanctum · 21 days

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hi michelle 💖 i've been a little behind this week but if you're still taking drabble prompts then #6 “I need a place to stay.” please? 😚

#6: "i need a place to stay."

"c'mon, it's just one night," ian pleads.

lily gives him an apologetic look. "you know i would if i could, but i haven't seen my girlfriend in a week, and i don't think you want to hear two lesbians going at it all night."

"i don't mind!" ian exclaims, following lily out of the kitchen. "i'll wear earplugs!"

"...i live in a studio apartment."

"lils," ian groans, "i can't stay at my brother's place again, my nephew is driving me up the wall with his screaming."

lily sighs. "what about your other siblings? can't you stay with them?"

ian shakes his head. "debbie and carl barely have enough space in their apartment to breathe, let alone a couch for me to crash on."

"look, it's just one night," she points out. "the pipes in your apartment will be fixed by tomorrow, i'm sure you can endure a couple hours of a screaming baby until then."

"you don't understand. i love freddy, i do, but..." ian's eyes shift around conspiratorially. "i've seen some... things. i truly think he may be the..." gulps. "...devil incarnate."

lily wants to roll her eyes at her friend's usual theatrics, but decides to give him a break. "i'm sure he is, buddy," she says placatingly. "okay, what about..." she looks around the diner until her eyes land on–"mickey? i think he lives nearby, actually."

she watches in amusement as ian's eyes widen and starts coughing out of nowhere. she slaps his back a couple times as he gasps for air.

"i can't ask mickey," ian finally sputters, once he catches his breath. "i've barely said two words to him! plus," he lowers his voice to barely a whisper, "you know i have a crush on him."

this time lily does roll her eyes. "you know he doesn't bite, right? yo, milkovich!" she calls out, ignoring ian's frantic head shaking, "can ian crash on your couch? he needs a place to stay tonight and he's desperate."

"i–i'm not–desperate, no...." ian mumbles, as mickey pops his head out of the kitchen window.

"who?" he asks, brows furrowed, until he spots ian standing there, still as a statue. "oh. you."

lily didn't think it was possible for a human to turn such a dark shade of red without spontaneously combusting, but ian might be the exception.

"you know what... i'll just sleep... on a... park bench..."

mickey moves out of sight from the window without a word, leaving ian hanging his head like an abandoned puppy at the pound, defeated and wrung out.

"i guess i can hold a bible while i sleep..." he says slowly, mostly to himself, "...keep the demons away..."

lily sighs, ready to take pity on him (maybe she can ask aubrey to bring her noise-cancelling headphones?), before mickey walks past them, turns his head around, and raises a brow at ian.

"you comin' or not, orphan annie?"

about time, lily thinks, as she pushes ian's jaw up from the floor and shove him towards the door before mickey could change his mind.

the next day at work, she holds back a smirk when she spots a visible hickey on ian's neck. maybe mickey does like to bite after all.

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theholiestsanctum · 22 days

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hello helloo

there's literally no ian x male reader in here so let me request something for him rq :]

I saw this prompts on pinterest earlier and i thought they would fit ian so i was wondering if you could do smth with them

"Please don't cry, i can't stand seeing you cry"

"Just talk to me."

"Don't pretend you're okay because i know you're not"

bye byee!

tears are in your eyes

A/N - can i just say thank u to this anon for getting me back into the writing spirit frrrrr

this request was exactly what i needed bc i LOVE ian gallagher i literally dream about him

plssss let me know who u are anon bc ur right the lack of male reader ian fics is madness 🙏🙏

summary: you love Ian, but he's sick. and he loves you, but you're crying.

it all started in the morning.

you came round the Gallagher house at 11, looking for Ian. he hadn't taken your calls all morning, it wasn't like you were worried or anything. maybe a little. but worrying about Ian felt like more of a constant feeling recently. when you got there, Fiona was the only person around and she told you to check upstairs, saying she hadn't seen him since she's been up.

when you went up there, Ian was laying in bed, wrapped up in covers. you smile to yourself. he's an angel, he is, and you always think this. even just from the back of his head when he's half asleep. you love him.

"heya," you call to him, "you still asleep?", you shake his shoulder gently and he shrugs you away. you furrow your brow and sit on the edge of the bed.

"c'mon," you ruffle the back of his hair and he groans, pulling the covers further up his face.

" 'm just...'m tired," he mumbles, you shift yourself closer to him, your hand on his arm,

"hey, Ian, you gotta get up. it's past 11." you stroke his arm gently,

"just...just- leave me alone." his tone is harsh and it stings. you remind yourself he doesn't really mean it.

"Ian, c'mon, what's wrong?" you ask and he doesn't reply. the room is silent and uncomfortable, but your hand stays on his arm. you love him.

"just talk to me." you're almost begging now, and he grunts in response.

and that's how it's been all day. it's 4 PM now, and Ian's barely moved. you've stayed next to him the whole time. your hand has moved from his hair, to his hands, to his arm. you've spoken to him softly, you've shouted. he's only replied in grunts or mumbled words, or just stayed silent.

it's hard, to see him like this. but you can't leave him, not like this. you love him.

it's 5 PM and nothings changed. you're lying behind Ian, arms wrapped around him, holding tight. he's holding your hands, loosely, but he is.

"Ian-" you start, whispering right next to his ear,

"no- no, don't," he stops you, "i'm fine- it's fine, i'm just...i'm tired." his voice is barely a whisper, and you hold him tighter.

you pause. there's a depressive intimacy happening, that you don't want to break.

"don't pretend you're okay because i know you're not." you wait for his reply. it never comes. you kiss his cheek and try to hold back tears. you love him

"he's still not up?" Fiona's in the doorway, holding two plates. she looks at you sympathetically, she knows how it feels.

"uh, no." you pull yourself away from Ian, he doesn't try and and hold you there. you sit up, taking the plates from Fiona. "thanks." you say, out of politeness, because you know you both won't eat.

"y'know you don't need to stay here, i can take care of-" she doesn't get to finish before you interrupt her,

"no. i'll stay. i'm staying with him." Fiona tries to smile at you, but she knows, more than anyone, you're just fighting a losing battle.

"right, well, uh, try eat something. get him to eat something." you smile at her as she leaves the room. moving the plates to the floor, you lay back in the bed, staring at the ceiling.

7 PM now, and Ian is laying on his back, looking up. it's the most he's moved all day. you're sat up next to him, staring down at your hands. you pick at your nails.

you're thinking about Ian, who's right next to you but not really there. you think about how the top of his head smells. and his voice in the morning. his arms when he holds you. his smile and his laugh and how his jaw hardens when he's angry. and most of all, you think of how you love him even when he feels like nothing. when it's as if he's just air. you love him.

and then you start to cry. it's slow at first. tears that trickle from your cheeks and land on your shirt. then you can't stop. you rub your eyes harshly to punish them, because you don't want to upset Ian. the tears don't stop, they can't stop. Ian looks at you, his blank face showing concern. and it isn't that he doesn't care, because he does. he's kicking himself seeing you cry. but he just can't. not right now.

"please- don't cry. y'know, i, uh, can't stand seeing you cry." he mumbles, rubbing his eyes. you look at him, face twisted in emotion, your hands in your lap. he reaches out and takes them, kissing them. and you can't help but smile so wide you wouldn't believe it was because of something so small. he pulls you down into a hug, holding you to his chest.

"i love you." he whispers, breathing you in deeply, his nose pressed to your neck.

this time you don't say anything, you just smile. and it's not a lot, but it's perfect.

and you love him.

A/N: the day i stop writing shameless angst is the day i die - stay tuned for many fluff posts from now onnnn (title is inspired by the yo la tengo song ofc)

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theholiestsanctum · 22 days

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I. GALLAGHER☆M. MILKOVICH

too nice is what you are.

IAN GALLAGHER who met you when you were over at the milkovich house. your feet propped up on the couch as the TV ran and a sweet bar in your hand. when mickey brought him in, a smile was instantly brought to your face as you waved to him, giving him a happy hello. he wasn't confused at the fact you were so welcoming in a place that wasn't even your own house, he was confused how you even became close with this family, even the dick of a father.

MICKEY MILKOVICH who can't help but be even the slightest bit nice to you, as you were nice to him when he met you. he found you fucking weird because he had an attraction to you, and ian didn't make it all the better. he loves you, but he'd never ever say it till later if you could get the chance.

IAN GALLAGHER who absolutely adores being close with you. even such as touching you in any way, moving you so he could get by, hugging you as a greeting, fiddling with the ends of your shirt to take it off, squeezing your thighs and forcing them open when you close them so he could please you better. kissing all over you when you get overstimulated reassuring you that you did such a good job.

MICKEY MILKOVICH who let's you stay over night just so he could have only you for that night. loving the way your body would almost melt into all of his touches until he'd be pounding into you, loving that beautiful voice of yours. loving your voice yes, but enjoying how he'd have to keep you quiet at times that glossed look in your eyes as you'd moan out in pleasure all because of him.

IAN GALLAGHER and MICKEY MILKOVICH who love you so much, that they'd make sure you felt good in any shape way or form.

EEEEE IM SO HAPPY ABT THIS FIC STYLE HOW DO YALL FEEL ABT IT🥰🥰 @gaybitchfx @tokio-motel @secretivemessenger @lostsomewhereinthegarden @esthxio @vyloy @reallyromealone @kitsune-yuhhh @bloodyfennec uhhh as usual someone is probably OH @perfectpiratearcade

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theholiestsanctum · 24 days

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@gallacrafts : Theme 32 - missed ya

It's not the letter he wanted but it was something. Something enough to keep him going. The paper is worn nearly to bits and there's places where the writing bled for some reason. He keeps it close to his heart anyway. Maybe there'll be something waiting for him after all

Sometimes I wonder if I'd be so invested in Gallavich if they'd had it easier and all the plot holes were filled. I don't know but I'm so massively grateful for this little fandom playground

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theholiestsanctum · 27 days

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Kiss me. [requested by anon]

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theholiestsanctum · 1 month

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PLEASE SEND ME REQUESTS FOR IMAGINES I DO A LOT OF STUFF LITERALLY ASK ME ANYTHING IT DOESNT HAVE TO BE SOMEONE IN THE TAGS OR IN MY BIO. pls include a prompt and pronouns. if it’s a smut, basically just tell me if u wanna be ate or sucked ANYWAY- :) 🤍

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theholiestsanctum · 1 month

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Ride the Cyclone productions where each choir member has a unique version of the St Cassian uniform instead of just Jane Doe and/or Mischa my beloveds <333

Georgia College production on the top, Chance Theatre production on the bottom.

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theholiestsanctum · 1 month

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18+ mdni

Me: “fuck, I need his cock”

Him: *is literally just words on tumblr*

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theholiestsanctum · 1 month

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Dylan Lenivy With A Protective S/O Would Include...

Request: Dylan from the quarry with an s/o who’s like really strong. Like wrestle bears strong (or in the quarry case wrestle werewolves strong) and is very protective. Like i mean picking Dylan up and running or taking hits for him.

I genuinely love Dylan so much time to work through my writer's block for him bby!! :)

Warning: Strong language, mentions of blood/ injury, mentions of guns and werewolf attacks!

(I do not own the Quarry or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @moafleco.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Dylan Lenivy: darling boy, absolute light of my life!! I full on expected to come into this game and have Max be my favourite because I loved Skyler Gisondo in Booksmart and Night at the Museum 3 but Dylan really side swept my ass here and stole my heart I've got to be honest.

You can bet your ass during the whole Werewolf Attack night at Hackett's Quarry, Dylan will use whatever battery is left on his phone sending you cheesy texts just to check in and make sure you're okay. Be ready for your phone to ding about a thousand times a minute, until Kaitlyn finally cracks and shoves it, still vibrating, into one of the cubbies in the nurse's office.

'Hey sweet... baby-heart! Wait that sounds weird let me start again. Hellooo there sweetheart!❤️🥰 just wanted to make sure ❓that you’re still alive! 💘😖 and not ripped apart! 🤞❌ anyway love you please don’t get eaten by a swarm of bears!! 🐻😘'

Ryan had the joy of reading that one over his shoulder in the radio shack, and the groan he emitted was so loud they both ended up having to pitch over each other and duck under the table because it drew Caleb back up onto the roof.

The poor guy keeps peering out between the slats of the radio shack window like a scared meerkat popping up from behind towering rocks, thinking he can see you float past in a mist of lucent white, weaving through the treeline. He keeps pacing back and forth, back and forth sweating buckets because he's so terrified, and so ashamed that he's cowering in here while you may be in danger out there. Even Ryan's awkward offer to let Dylan borrow his earphones for a while: to sit with his knees drawn up to his chest in the corner and just breathe for a minute while Ryan kept watch, was met with an uncharacteristic sharp intake of breath and manic shake of the head.

So when you come bursting through the rickety door: drenched from head to toe in Nick's metallic reeking blood and propping Chris Hackett's shotgun in your arms, neither of the two men know what to do. But when a crash of lightning makes the full moon glowing behind your head shudder, making the pulsating umbra shrouding your head seem all the more monstrous, Dylan suddenly does.

The man starts screaming in a key that only dogs had a chance of hearing.

When he finally realises that it's you and not - you know - the 'Hag of Hackett's Quarry', and he's spent enough time bent over with his hands resting on his knees trying to catch his breath, the nervous butterflies in the pit of his stomach suddenly turn into somersaults. You came back for him. You came to save him. You care for him that much: love him that much, that you were willing to risk your own life just to try and save his.

Even though he's known you since you were seven years old: even though the two of you had met all those years ago during your first week at this very same camp, catching each other's eyes and waving as he bundled up to Chris' office with a brand new tape player he had restored in his arms, and you helped one of the younger girls pull her luggage out from the back of her parent's van, the true extent of how much he could fucking love someone hits him like air freshener to the face.

Even though the two of you used to sneak out of your bunks and meet up at midnight in the Shady Glade, bumping down beside each other on the dewy grass, constantly craving each other’s company. You made him blush one night, when you suddenly grabbed his hand and intertwined his growing fingers over your smaller ones, pointing up at the moon, and the glowing stars, not realising the little side eye, euphoric look he would give you.

Even though his heart had flipped over there and then: greedily gorging and festering in his chest, even though he had spent years stifling the feeling until he learnt that he was lucky enough to have it returned, it still shocked him to realise you didn't see him as a waste of space. As a spent joke.

And then his hand gets bit, and everything changes. It must have looked at least a little bit funny when it happened, considering there was not a chance in hell you were about to let any mystical creature drag off your poor boyfriend. As soon as Dylan got swung up to the roof: screaming and begging for you and Ryan to get him down, you jumped onto the desk and latched yourself on Dylan's back like koala bear. Your legs are quick to wrap around his waist until your heels kick up onto the slats, your arms wrapping around his waist until you manage to reach past and grab onto thick handfuls of warm... oozing fur.

With a swift punch to the snout, the two of you fall unceremoniously to the floor in a resounding crash. You managed to cover most of Dylan's moans during your fall by cradling him into your stomach, taking most of the brunt of the force. The poor guy for a moment just curls up on top of you in a state of wide-eyed shock, the side of his cheek heavy as he smooshed it against the side of your jaw. It's almost domestic: almost sweet, as he tugs his legs up between your knees and hides his eyes by turning his head into the curve of your neck. It's the same manner in which he wakes up every morning, hiding himself by nestling himself into you every time the sunrise comes falling through the dusty cracks of the Quarry's alpine blinds and makes him jolt awake.

This time, though. This time is far worse. Because then he starts laughing: a hoarse, shaking, unnerving noise that seems to seep through your throat and make you choke on your tongue. You do your best to grab onto his biceps as he starts shaking, his hands beginning to ball into your shirt as the reality of what's just happened to him settles in.

This man has seen enough horror movies in his life. If he's going to die, he wants to do it lying here in your arms.

Before he knew what was happening, he's being lifted up into your arms bridle style and rushed out towards the pool house. The whole way there, despite the agonising pain he's in, he keeps pressing his lips into your collar bone and giggling like a school boy caught head over heels by his crush. Even when your hands finally slip off from underneath his knees and you gently perch him on the edge of a sink, he's still cradling the side of his head on his neck and looking down at you as if you hung every star in that unbridled sky. It doesn't matter if you're trying to use a cloth to clear some of the blood from underneath his eyebags, or using some bandage Abi found in one of the pool lockers, this man is too busy trying to spend every second he has left as him enraptured by you. That means you have to work with him biting his bottom lip and smiling wonkily as he dodges the cloth and instead grabs onto your fingers, pulling them to his lips so he can kiss your knuckles one by one languidly. He looks so soft - so goddamn soft as he nudges his cheek against your intertwined hands, letting them rest against the side of his face.

He gets really fidgety, and it's then that you suddenly understand he's asking for a reassurance kiss: for the knowledge that you're not going to leave him. He’ll never say it outright, because deep down he’s too embarrassed and touch starved to admit it, but you can always tell. He has so many give away signs: he starts looking down at the floor, taps his feet against the tiles and fidgets his hips back against the porcelain, plays with his fingers by threading them through each other until you lean up to kiss the tip of his nose, and then he just beams with pure, unbridled happiness.

'You're so beautiful, you know that?' Even with the tendrils beginning to twist up his forearm, even half delirious with the stress of what had been happening that night, even thinking he's about to die he's still thinking of you. Worried about you. Desperate for you to know, that it's always been you. That it's all you.

'Dylan... I love you too, but if you keep putting yourself in danger to save everyone else I'm going to kick you into Lake Septimus ass first, okay?'

'Look, I've never met the guy, and although I'm sure he's lovely you're the only person I want to fall ass first onto', he replies, trying his best to hide how his eyes were starting to burn: how his eyes were beginning to crinkle with the effort of stopping his face contorting in pain by cupping your cheeks with his large palms and pressing a lingering, needy kiss against the side of your mouth.

'Ew. Gross, guys.' You turn your head to raise an amused eyebrow at Kaitlyn, but she only shakes her head and turns her attention back to the knitting gash on Nick's leg.

He seems to spend half of the time hiding behind your back! Like, you can just feel the slight tremble as his slender fingers touch your shoulder, and then the growing shadow against the lodge chimney as he jolts behind you. He's trying his best, bless his heart, even though the way he tucks the jut of his chin into your shoulder blade and grabs onto your biceps restricts you from shooting off Caleb when he comes clambering up the stairs towards the two of you.

But also even though he knows you're super bad ass he is 100% ready to launch himself, full-body starfish jump, in harm's way at the first sign of danger. Such as when Emma comes jumping out of the minivan, and Dylan straight away launches you away from him and nearly bearhugs her to the stony ground. Thankfully, you manage to tear off a branch from one of the encircling pine trees and strike the werewolf off Dylan; a near home run hit had her scrambling off into the woodland again as fast as her four legs could carry her. For a moment, your boyfriend just lounges against the dirt, shaky breath only interrupted by the sound of his wincing as he begins to flick pebbles off the deep scratches lining his elbow. Then, before you can even blink, he comes scrambling on his hands and knees towards you like a prowling predator, before melting into you. His arms are quick to lock behind your hamstrings; Dylan doesn't even bother to get up off his knees, he just shoves his head into your bellybutton and refuses to move until he can feel your fingers card through his scalp.

'Oh my god!', he finally starts, once you begin to unlatch his rusted fingers from around his legs by pulling at them one by one. 'I can't believe you never told me!'

'Told you what?'

'That you're secretly the sports coach! I knew Jacob was too much of a butthead - I just knew he was too busy playing hookup to look after the kids. That's the real tea from this summer.'

For real though - it doesn't matter where you are: turn around and Dylan's on your heels like your own personal walking, talking, screeching shadow. You have a bet with Kaitlin on whether he's managed to build a teleporting machine during his free time in the radio shack, because you could be down scouting the kitchen and he could be up looking at the weird family pictures in the lodge's attic, but at the first sound of any kind of howl he's there. You barely have time to duck down behind the counter before your boyfriend has made you jump out of your skin; he's standing right by the freezer (how tf did he manage to get all the way there without you hearing him??), completely out of breath and holding a cast iron skillet in his hands like a baseball bat.

'What?', he shrugs down at you with a tired smirk, putting his free hand on his hip and wiggling them a little. 'My mom always told me that it's better to be prepared than to catch anything unexpected. And I'm not letting you get bit too.'

'I'm... not quite sure that's what she meant. But thanks, sweetie.'

The nickname has his face burning a deep-set roseate for the next thirty minutes.

And then the two of you meet Laura, and this man's world just turns upside down. You turn down her offer to join her in trying to find Chris Hackett and end all of this for good, but from where Dylan was sitting on the bench next to the rattling window, he missed out on your reasoning why. He missed out on how you'd admitted that your sole focus: your one care now was to make sure that Dylan was safe. That you cared about him more than anything, and Mr. H could go to hell as far as you're concerned. You had to make sure Dylan survived the night.

Dylan's eyebrows crumpled when you came, cross armed, to unsteadily take a seat next to him again. He was too nervous to ask what the two of you had agreed, so he just fiddled with his thumbs and let the idea that he was holding you back darken his thoughts.

That he was a hinderance. That he was an annoyance.

He doesn't know what else to do, so as the two of you head out to the Hackett scrapyard in search of a new rotor arm, he takes up every silent moment by cracking wise. It starts to worry you - the way he can barely touch you. How he holds his hands in near claws against the meat of his biceps: how he barely lets his leg brush against yours before he jolts away again as if electrified. He even seems anxious when you reach out and grip onto his hand, his hold limp and loose as he lets it sway uneasily in the growing gap between your bodies.

He's just so afraid that if he lets go now, you'll be letting go of him forever. So he doesn't want to hold on at all. He feels it will be easier this way: kinder to you, to feel as if he's just drifting off with the breeze, a fond memory of long summers spent at some strange, long forgotten Quarry.

But you know him far too well not to register the full-blown panic behind his eyes as he dares to take a glance over at you. So please, shove this guy up against the nearest trunk of a tree, hold him up by shoving your knee in-between the seams of his thighs, and kiss him silly until all he can do is saunter off with a dopey smile and a brain so far up in the clouds all he can do is laugh rather than string together a sentence!!!

Literally I feel like this would heal him. Give this poor bby the love he's so desperately craving.

Straight up hefting him over your shoulder and carrying him away from Caleb in the scrapyard. The confused look on Kaitlyn's face as her head slowly turns to follow the set of you sprinting past with a screaming Dylan folded over your back like a snapped ruler is mfcking hilarious I'm not going to lie.

You refuse to leave him in the crane. Not even when he's gouging into the balls of your shoulders, crying and yelling and begging you to leave. To run. To get the hell away from him while you still can. Between his tormented yelps, you do your best to grab onto his face despite how forcefully his body's contorting. Despite how his fingernails are starting to cut into your skin and send blood blooming out in wispy tendrils across your shirt. You just place your thumbs up against the darkness obscuring the sides of his eyes and try to keep Dylan looking at you. To try and make him understand, to try and make sure the last thing he saw before he turned was you not leaving him. Not Ever.

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